Desired Constellation
by olansamuelle
Summary: Some days are harder than others. Nikita reflects on her role as Operations and Walter gives her some advice. Oneshot using yesterday news.


**DESIRED CONSTELLATIO**N

Somewhere in Europe. Section One. The Perch. July, 27. 2009.

"Team One has returned, Madam." The younger man's voice echoed in the Perch.

"Numbers?," she asked.

"100% containment. No casualties."

Nikita closed her eyes in relief. "Thank you, Jason." It had been nine years, but it still hurt to hear that voice knowing it wasn't Birkoff's. Not that hurting was an alien emotion anyway.

Nikita looked at her watch. It was almost 2:00 a.m. and she still had to wait for the report on the Nigeria mission. More than one hundred men, civilians and police, had died due to several organized attacks on police stations. The attackers had claimed themselves as a branch of Al-quaeda, and they asserted their attacks were to protest because of the detentions of some of their religious leaders. That led them to demand the inadequacy of Western schools, all against Muslim Law.

Was it really necessary to kill? Nikita looked at the numbers from the first reports; one of the first attacks rendered more than fifty dead. Five were policemen, the rest, muslim civilians. They were small scaled attacks, but they nevertheless equaled terrorism, so Oversight had sent an inmediate order to Section One.

Nikita had sent Jordan, one of Section's level 5 operatives, leading a team of six. They had to secure the remaining police station and prevent as many deaths as possible. Another patch on a much bigger problem. It was true that those kinds of attacks were almost impromptu actions, giving them no time to prevent them, but still Nikita knew that they should be doing more, that Section had to change its course of action, or at least diversify it.

She also knew that if she dared presenting Oversight or Center her ideas, she'd be as good as dead, and Section would fall down with her if it was not taken back to the former Operations' dark ages. Her relations with both Agencies were on a thin tightrope, and she didn't want to worsen them. Section One depended on that. It depended on her.

It was frustrating, but her hands were tied.

It was at these times that she missed him the most, but at least she still had somebody she could lean on.

And he seemed to know when to appear.

"Hey, Sugar."

Nikita smiled at the old man standing at the Perch's entrance. She took the remote and darkened the glass before approaching him. "Walter." She hugged him.

"What's shakin'? You don't look too good. Mission gone bad?," asked Walter.

Nikita shook her head. "No. Just...the usual, Walter," she sighed, "the usual."

"You know, sugar," said Walter, "I'm old, I tend to forget things, so," he smiled, "why don't you tell your old fella 'bout those thoughts?"

Nikita chuckled. She wondered if she would've ever survived without him.

"Have you heard about Nigeria?"

"Yes. Problems? It was supposed to be an easy gig."

"I'm still waiting on the reports, Quinn will debrieff in an hour."

Walter looked at her; she looked pensive, and that was never good. Not in Section. Introspection in this place only brought two things: migrains or cancellation.

"A few weeks ago we had the riots in China. Before that, another policeman was assasinated in the Basque Country, and the problem persists. Gaza, Iran...it never stops."

"That's how it works, sugar. We fight it, it comes back again. The cycle is called 'cycle' for a reason."

"But it shouldn't be that way, Walter."

"Nikita, you've been here long enough to know that miracles do not exist."

"Section One helps feed that cycle," she said sternly. "We attack simply because we consider them criminals."

"Nikita, terrorists _are_ criminals."

"Criminals who, misguided or not, believe that they fight for something, that they stand for their twisted sense of justice. You can't stop something like that, Walter. So if we keep on attacking them, killing them, they will strike back."

"Sugar, if we didn't exist their slaughters would be more numerous. We are saving lives."

"But we are not solving the problem, Walter. Not by a long shot. If we worked to try and get truces with at least nationalistic groups, true ones, not fake periods so they can rearm, under specific protocols, we would be giving several nations the scenario they need to try and sort things out. Section has the resources, why can't we do it?"

Walter looked at Nikita. She was one of the strongest human beings he had met in all his long life, but even the best had bad days, and once in a while, the whole weight of the organization she now ran, fell on her shoulders. If Michael were here, maybe things could be a little different.

"Sugar, Section One is very powerful, but under many bigger entities, scrutinized on a microscopic level. The slightest glitch would send us all to hell. Literally. As Operations you have a fair degree of freedom, but not that free, and you know it, why do you keep bothering yorself with that?" Walter extended his hand towards her chin and moved it gently so she would face him. "Look at this place," he said smiling now. "You've changed it so much, sugar. Section is a better place, as better as it can be. You've managed a whole transition, Nikita, think about it, because it is an achievement no other could fulfil."

"When you know there's more to do, sometimes that big accomplishment seems insufficient," she insisted.

"Then all you have left is some old-fashioned hope," responded a categorical Walter.

Nikita looked at him incredulously.

"Hope, sugar," he repeated.

Nikita sniggered bitterly at Walter's comment.

"You can laugh, sugar, but that is all you can have." He stood up. "Dream about it, think about it, use it as you've always used it, but nothing more, because if you keep trying in that direction, one of these days that insightfull side of yours is gonna be crushed mercilessly."

With one soft kiss on her forehead, Walter left the Perch.

Two hours later Nikita finally headed for her quarters. Walter's words were still sounding in her head. "Hope," she muttered to herself. "Where do I find hope when there's no further way to look?"

She sat on the mattress and remained in silence for a moment.

That's when she heard it.

A faint beeping sound.

"_Hope, sugar."_

The PDA was on the table. Slowly, she took the small device. She used it to communicate with Jason and Walter. It also had a closed encrypted channel, allowing them a few messages every month. Jason had just left and knew better than to bother her through a personal channel without impending missions active, and she just had talked to Walter a couple of hours ago.

"_Hope, sugar."_

She opened the message.

"Adam doesn't need me anymore."

"Hope."

Hope.

**Author's notes**

This was a little something that popped after reading the news about Nigeria (July 27, 2009)

The version with a link to the song which gives title to the fic is on my LJ.


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